Her Scar

By Peter Spagnuolo Peter Spagnuolo
Remember me: the murmuring lips half said
in half-light, buried in the hollow
a boy’s neck made, as now inside his head
they stir again, though twenty years swallow
the purest parts of her, all but her plea,
this taunt—what act from him could it command?
The boy who’d know is gone—Re-member me
but what man can assemble limbs, make stand
again those legs that twined in his, or hitch
the yoke of hips to sway and resurrect
a girl? I try, but only recollect
her scar—each lewd, profaning, cautered stitch—
vermiform, red, furrowed belly to breast:
where nights, long past, he’d laid his head in rest.

Source: Poetry (October 2010).


This poem originally appeared in the October 2010 issue of Poetry magazine

October 2010
 Peter  Spagnuolo


Peter Spagnuolo is the author of the chapbook, The Return of the Son of Ten by Fourteen (Pocket Plunder, 2012) and Time’s Wiggy Chariot (2013). He works as an exculpatory narratologist in New York City.

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SUBJECT Living, Time & Brevity, Relationships, Love

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